


Brothers In Arms

by misha_anon



Category: Dragon Age: Origins, Supernatural
Genre: Dragon Age Crossover, First Kiss, Grey Warden Dean, M/M, Mage Castiel, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:49:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misha_anon/pseuds/misha_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural/Dragon Age: Origins crossover wherein Dean is an ex-Templar Grey Warden and Castiel is mage recruited from the Circle Tower to join the Grey Wardens in their fight against the darkspawn.  <i>Alternative summary: Dragon Age has overtaken my life so of *course* I turned it into a deancas AU.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Brothers In Arms

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know how much sense this will make if you've never played Dragon Age: Origins, but someone basically dared me to write it and here we are. XD

Dean knows that the Grey Wardens are hard up for new recruits, but this is - hands down - the worst decision he's ever seen Duncan make.   _Not_  that Duncan makes a  _lot_  of bad decisions, of course.  You don't get to be the leader of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden if you do that; but on a scale of “going for a pleasant picnic in the Korcari Wilds" to "poking a dragon in the eye with a twig while naked” this comes in a lot closer to the latter.  Allowing a mage into the wardens is a terrible plan.  Who _knows_ what havoc he could wreak with his magic and treachery?

Still, it could be worse, he supposes.  In looking for upsides to the obviously impending calamity, he couldn’t help noticing that the new recruit is smoking hot, _despite_ his ridiculous hat.  The man has been in camp for three days before Dean finally misses an opportunity to avoid interaction and finds himself standing nearly nose-to-nose with someone who obviously never learned the meaning of “personal space” in his time at the Circle Tower.

“I’m Castiel,” the mage says without preamble, his voice much deeper and rougher than Dean had imagined.

Castiel’s eyes are blue.  Incredibly blue.  Bluer than Lake Calenhad in the moonlight.  So blue Dean feels as though he could drown in them if he doesn’t get away.  He takes a quick breath and a step backward, nearly tripping over the Mabari war hound another new recruit brought into the group three weeks ago in his haste to put some space between himself and the mage.

“I know who you are,” Dean says.  Castiel recoils from the harshness of his tone and Dean instantly feels guilty.  “I mean, I- I didn’t know your name, but I know you’re Duncan’s new recruit.”

“You must be Dean,” Castiel says simply, his face suddenly guarded.  “Duncan has spoken of you.”

“He has?”  Dean can’t stop the way his chest puffs up just the tiniest bit with pride and he hazards a tentative smile.

“Yes, he told me you’re scared of mages,” comes Castiel’s reply.

“He..  he didn’t say that!”

“Perhaps not,” Castiel says with a little shrug, looking ever-so-slightly pleased with Dean’s indignation.  “It was close to that, if I recall correctly, however.”

With the conversation apparently over for Castiel, he turns to walk away, the pleased look blooming into a half-smirk as he does so.  Still reeling from the blue of Castiel’s eyes and his unexpected sarcasm, all Dean can do is hate the fact that he blushes so easily call out to the mage’s retreating back,  “You just keep your hocus pocus to yourself and we won’t have any problems, _Castiel_.”

Dean spends the rest of the day stewing over their conversation, torn between a strong dislike of a _mage_ who dared get the best of him and the memory of how beautiful that mage’s face was from two inches away.  Dinner comes and goes as Dean goes back to avoiding interacting with Castiel at all costs.  It’s Duncan’s teasing “I heard Castiel made you blush” that sends Dean to bed shortly after dark.

 

Three uneasy weeks later, the small band of Wardens surprise a group of darkspawn stragglers and Dean finds his life in Castiel’s hands.  As he’s hacking his way through a hurlock twice his size, he hears the unmistakable thud of a body falling to the muddy ground behind him.  A moment later - the hurlock dispatched and sans head - Dean looks back to see Castiel wielding his staff like a battle-axe - one currently being brought to bear on the genlock’s already cracked skull.  

As soon as the darkspawn stops moving, Castiel looks up; a fierceness in his eyes that takes Dean by surprise, and asks: “Are you all right, Dean?”

“Yeah, I’m just..  “  Dean blinks and reaches up to wipe the blood from his face, grimacing in pain as the movement pulls at the edges of a dagger cut on his forearm.  “I never even _heard_ him behind me.”

“He closed in too fast for me to cast a warding glyph,” Castiel says matter-of-factly, “but my staff is good for more than just magic.”  Half a second later, Dean’s forearm is caught between Castiel’s careful hands as he tests the edges of the dagger wound and says, “I have some bandages and a poultice in my pack.”

Dean tries to tell himself that the racing of his heart is one-hundred percent related to the near-death experience of the skirmish as Castiel releases his arm to dig for bandages, but deep down he knows better.  He watches intently as Castiel searches for the best poultice, biting at his lip nervously as he hears his fellow Wardens tending one another’s wounds behind him.  When Castiel’s fingers alight on his arm again, they’re warm and gentle and all Dean can hear is his own blood rushing through his ears as the poultice and bandages are carefully applied.

“Does it hurt much?”

“Uh,” Dean says, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath as he tries to focus on anything _other_ than how warm Castiel’s skin is against his own.

“I know some _hocus pocus_ that can relieve your pain,” Castiel says quietly.  “Of course, I won’t use it unless you want me to.”

When Dean opens his eyes, he sees the same guarded expression that had masked Castiel’s face during their first conversation and his heart sinks to his ankles.  He answers an equally quiet, “It’s okay.”

“You’ll be good as new in a week or two,” Castiel says, his tone terse and his hands dropping away from Dean’s arm immediately.

“No!”  The word comes out much louder than Dean means for it to, but he only dimly notices that the other Wardens fall silent in the wake of his exclamation.  “No, Cas, I meant..  it’s okay if you use a spell on me.”

“Oh,” Castiel says.  

A faint pink colors his cheeks as he takes Dean’s arm in his hands again - this time with one thumb pressed against the pulse point in Dean’s wrist and the other pressed into the same at the bend of his elbow.  A warm flutter moves through Dean’s chest, nervousness rising through him as he fights to stay in control and push away Chantry warnings about the dangers of rampant magic use.

Castiel chants a string of soft words, his hands growing warmer against Dean’s skin with each one.  Within only a few seconds, the searing pain in Dean’s arm has been reduced to almost nothing.  He breathes a sigh of relief and struggles to regain a clear head.  Castiel’s hands linger for a long moment before he finally releases Dean’s arm for good.

“Let me know if it starts to hurt again,” Cas says.  

He bends down to pick up his staff from where he laid it carefully at his feet and when he stands back up, Dean reaches out to grab it long enough to say, “Thanks.  For, you know, saving my life.”

The mage’s gaze settles on where Dean’s fingers wrap around the intricately carved wood, his brow drawn as though in thought for a moment before he meets Dean’s eyes and says, “We are Grey Wardens, aren’t we?”

“Yeah,” Dean admits.  “But, that doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for not letting a genlock eat my liver.  Or for, you know, the _hocus pocus_.”

The smile that curls Castiel’s lips is wide and genuine, the first _real_ smile Dean has ever seen on his usually stern face; the reaction of Dean’s body is immediate, a flush burning his ears and sweat dampening his palms as Castiel offers an equally genuine, “In that case; you’re welcome, Dean.”

 

The days start to blur together after that, spent trudging through mud and fighting off whatever comes their way.  Even within the excellence of the Grey Warden group, Dean and Castiel quickly distinguish themselves as an unstoppable pair.  On the battlefield, they can be found in close ranks, killing anything that threatens them without a second though. Cas is efficient with his spells, paralyzing enemies so that Dean can take them out with his sword; Dean doesn’t hesitate to use his shield to block something that threatens Castiel.

In camp, they’re inseparable.  Night after night, they linger on the opposite side of the campfire from everyone else, shoulder-to-shoulder as Dean spins yarns about his childhood being raised by wild Mabari hounds while Castiel looks on suspiciously, though he’s much too polite to call Dean a liar.  If tongues wag about their relationship, Duncan keeps a tight rein on it.  

Within two months of meeting Castiel, Dean comes to the realization that he’s in real danger of falling in love with the mage he once mistrusted so.  Never one who’s been comfortable being open about his feelings, Dean tries to let Cas know he’s interested in _other_ ways. Although Castiel is appreciative of the bottle of fine wine Dean found for sale just outside the Brecilian Forest _and_ of the silver bracelet Dean found by..  other means.. he remains his same sweet, fierce, _clueless_ self no matter how hard Dean tries to hint.

They’re in camp at the edge of the Korcari Wilds when Dean decides he can’t wait another moment to tell Cas how he feels.  It’s late; everyone else has been in bed for hours and the coming day holds their first _real_ foray into an area that’s heavily infested by darkspawn.  They could die tomorrow - either or both of them - and Dean knows that it’s now or never.

As usual, they are sitting side-by-side in the slowly dying light of the fire when Dean swallows down his fear and rubs his hand through his short hair.  He clears his throat to signify the end of this comfortable lull in their conversation before saying, “I like you.”

“I like you, too, Dean,” Castiel replies immediately.

From the corner of his eye, Dean can see the smile that pulls up the corners of Castiel’s lips at the thought and he knows instantly that the mage didn’t catch his drift.  He swallows again and tries to ignore the racing of his heart and the weak tremble in his knees when he pushes himself up to kneel in front of Cas.  The firelight flickers across Castiel’s face, a beautiful flit of shadows dancing on tanned skin that makes Dean wonder how he’s never noticed how strikingly beautiful Cas really is before.

“No, I mean I _like_ you.”

“As in..” Castiel says, his words trailing off as he searches Dean’s face.

“Maker’s _breath_ , are you really going to make me spell it out for you?”  Dean’s hands shake as he takes Castiel’s face between them - just as gently as Cas once held his injured arm - and he leans in close, his tone almost pleading when he says, “As in, when this Blight is over I want to spend the rest of my life with you on a tiny stupid farmstead far away from everything that reminds us of war and death and darkspawn.”

“Ohhh,” Castiel says; barely more than a breath.  And a moment later: “Oh.”

Dean’s heart thumps painfully behind his breastbone as he tries to read something, _anything_ in his best friend’s face or his tone.  Castiel’s brow furrows as he nods slowly, carefully, and reaches up to wrap his fingers around Dean’s forearm, just over the scar left from a hurlock’s dagger on a battlefield long forgotten.

“Cas?”  

Dean’s voice is small and tinny in his ears.  He crouches backward to sit on his heels, fearing for the first time that he’s said too much - or the wrong thing - or maybe even not enough.  Disappointment wells up like bile in the back of his throat and he couldn’t feel more foolish if he’d done cartwheels through the Denerim markets naked.

“I _like_ you, too,” Castiel whispers after an excruciatingly long ten seconds of silence.  Even in the light of the fire, Dean can see the way Castiel’s cheeks start to darken when he amends it to, “I think I may even love you.”

“Oh,” Dean says, knocked sideways by the admission.  His stomach does an excited little flop and ends up somewhere around his knees before finding its way back to the middle of him.  A grin spreads across his face as he leans in, tilting Castiel’s head just enough that the ridiculous mage’s hat he insists on wearing falls to the ground half a second before their lips meet.


End file.
